


inside the chrysalis, the butterfly flaps its wings

by KDblack



Category: MORFOSI｜莫法西
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Metamorphosis, Monster Transformation, Psychological Horror, Timothy is still in there... for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27513757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDblack/pseuds/KDblack
Summary: Timothy is losing time.
Relationships: Jon/Timothy | Lord Morfosi
Kudos: 7





	inside the chrysalis, the butterfly flaps its wings

**Author's Note:**

> I continue to feel personally attacked by [Dino999z](https://twitter.com/dino999z) and [UniDot Studio](https://twitter.com/unidotstudio).

Timothy is losing time. Not a lot of time, he thinks. Seconds, minutes. Not hours. Every time he opens his eyes, he finds himself several steps away from where he was when he closed them. At first, the dissonance bothered him. He stumbled down hallways with his stinging eyes forced open. But then he started tripping over the monsters and – he just couldn't do it anymore, okay? He had to close his eyes, no matter what happened. He couldn't pretend this wasn't happening, but while he was in the dark, he could steel himself.

The darkness is so soft. So welcoming. So sweet. That's a problem. He feels like he's falling into deep, black water. Every time he opens his eyes, he's desperately trying to keep his head above the waves, sucking in another quick breath before the undertow drags him down again. 

It can't have always been like this. But his memories blur in the dark, and the dark is everywhere.

He tells himself not to dwell on it. There are more important things to think about: the distant scrape of raw meat heaving itself over broken floorboards, the silent weight of skull-faced monsters waiting like statues, the musical resonance that fills his head every time he draws too close to either. There is something familiar about these crumbling walls, this stale, blood-soaked air. Even when he slips up and leech jaws snap shut around his leg or huge bone claws lay his back open, it's difficult to be afraid of this place. 

_I hope Jon's all right,_ he thinks, curled up in a chest as something that looks like heat haze and feels like the skin being flayed from his flesh roots around outside. 

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he wonders why. Jon's been here long enough to know this place like the back of his hand. Besides, these pitiful creatures know better than to hurt their master's most loyal servant. 

A minute later, he opens the chest, blinks in the dusty light, and thinks, _I hope Jon's all right._

When he crawls out of the chest, there's something wet on his face. He scrubs the blood away and stumbles forward. Something in the back of his head twists unpleasantly at his poor posture, the way his breath hitches with each step, the shuffling gait he's developed. He's sorry. He can't help it. The first gem just made his teeth itch, but the second one did something to his legs. At first, they hurt all over. Now they're just numb. It's so easy to lose his balance when he can't feel anything below the knee. 

The something in the back of his head sighs, indulgent, and draws him close. He wobbles for a moment, then stands up straighter. Fixes his jacket with steady fingers. Walks forward, a faint smile tugging at his lips. All while the water closes over his head. 

The light is so far away now. All he has left is the heavy weight of blood in his lungs. 

He can't have always been like this. There are too many puzzle pieces leftover – pieces of a life spent outside this manor, far from the shadow of these trees. Timothy went to college. Walked far in the sun without flinching. Thought quiet thoughts, dreamed quiet dreams. If he really, really tries, he can almost remember. But his thoughts are wicked now, and they scream. 

There is no Timothy. Timothy feels sick. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don't choke on the gore sliding down your throat. 

Soon it will all be over.

_I hope Jon's all right._


End file.
